The Kings' War
by Fanless
Summary: Borlath has returned to an all-too-familiar host, and he wants the city. The world's Endowed are drawn to the place where it all began. War brews. This time, it's serious.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The city of the Red King has a long and shadowy history; it is speckled with betrayal, scored with underhandedness and over all splashed with blood. If you are of a certain persuasion, whether Endowed or not, and are strong enough to listen for them and retain your sanity, it may be possible to hear the whispers of long-forgotten deeds from its antiquarian stones. Whether or not you survive to pass them on is a different matter, for many of the most powerfully charged locations are near the ruins of the Red King's castle and therefore on the property of the Bloors, who don't take kindly to trespassers.

Not many are aware, but the King's elder son Borlath once was crowned himself and sought to overthrow his peaceful father's position. When he was twenty-one years of age, Borlath assembled a collection of bloodthirsty knaves seeking protection from his father's justice and renamed himself the Black King, after his mane of hair and the glittering sword of obsidian he carried to lead his lawless, dissipated army. They committed many a sickening crime to humanity over the five years of the rightful King's absence.

Upon his return, horrified to see the destruction of his home's livelihood but lacking the hard-heartedness to raise arms against his own flesh and blood—the only things he held dear above all others—the Red King abandoned the land of his happiness. So began the centuries of darkness.

Charlie Bone's uncle Paton Yewbeam, one who broke away from his family's tradition of malevolence and his comrades know more about these dark times than any professional historian. Paton in particular has made collecting the histories of the Endowed his life's work. Little by little he begins to shed light on the darkness of the past, and any light, however weak and wavering at times it may be, is all they need to stay alive.

But tonight the whispers in the walls of the city are louder than ever. Tonight something is about to rebirth itself that never should have lived in the first place. And no one has any knowledge of it, not even the Bloors wrapped in their towers of cold gray stone.

Tonight the curse that Borlath screamed in hopeless fury with his dying breaths comes at last to poisonous fruition.

Tonight is the night that the future historians will chronicle as the Awakening; the night that the King's War truly begins.

And no one knows but the whispers in the walls.


	2. The Gift of Borlath

**The Gift of Borlath**

* * *

The halls of Bloor's Academy whistled with spiteful echoes of the wind that howled outside. It was Friday night, and for once nobody had detention. Silence hung over every empty classroom like a curtain of gray. Only through a few windows did light glow.  
One of them belonged to Manfred Bloor, former head boy and current teaching assistant. He was amusing himself by pinching candlewicks between his bony fingers and lighting them using his endowment of conjuring fire. Candles dripped from every surface like fireflies on waxen stems. Manfred preferred their ageless glow to the harsh glare of electric lamps.

Finished at last with his simple task, the angular young man sighed in satisfaction, throwing himself into a violin-backed wooden chair and meeting his own black gaze in the age-clouded antique mirror hanging above his desk. The candlelight flickering in the depths of his eyes reminded him briefly of the talent that had abandoned him only recently: hypnotism, yet another thing Charlie Bone had stolen from him. Manfred was convinced that Charlie's willfully blocking him from reading the boy's mind had broken his power.

But it hardly mattered now. After all, he was now the possessor of an even greater skill—that of control over fire, like his ancestor Borlath—and that skill would be what brought down the infernal meddler in the end. It was just a very short matter of time until he would be at the peak of his power, and then—oh, then—all that boy and his cursed confidantes had done would be for naught.

Manfred smirked at his reflection. Thinking about hurting Bone always gave him pleasure.

…_hast thou enemies then?…_

Manfred started, whipping round in his chair. Where had that voice come from? It seemed not to have come from any discernable direction or indeed been spoken out loud at all, instead echoing from within his own mind as if he himself had thought the question.

"Hello?" he barked, not so much afraid as angry. If it was one of Charlie's stupid little buddies sneaking into the building after hours to mess with him, they were going to be sorry. That Olivia Vertigo was an actress; she probably knew how to mimic and throw her voice. Little hellion.

…_be not mistaken, no parlor trick am I but thy destiny…_

…_follow my instructions and I shall aid thee in thine nemeses' destruction… _

Manfred scowled. Something about the voice was tugging at his insides, willing him to obey this… this sensory apparition. What a ridiculous situation. He was probably asleep and dreaming this right now. Nobody talked to voices in their head except mad people, and mad he certainly wasn't. "And what if I don't?"

…_then thou shalt wish thou had listened to thy betters, insolent scion!…_

Manfred winced. A sharp burning flash had just struck through his head down to his ribs. If this was a dream then it was a rather unpleasant one.

…_still doubting? a wise attitude… _Approving laughter. …_then I shall make good my word. come, and I shall prove to my descendant…_

With a jerk, Manfred's body rose to its feet as if someone had lifted him by his collar. Puppetlike, he was lurched to the door, out of it and down through the building, all the while feeling as if someone had caught him by the arm (only over his entire body) and was pulling him forward.

When the curious sensation receded and Manfred could control his own movements again, he found himself standing in the middle of the ruins, in front of the stone under which Borlath's artifacts had been discovered along with his mother's heart.

"What is this?" he demanded of the chilly midnight air. "There's nothing here! Nothing but dirt! We dug up this spot ages ago."

…_ah, but thou art mistaken, my son many times great. indeed thy beast-boy had unearthed all that there is to be had from this cold earth, but had no one considered the stone itself as a hiding place of treasure?…_

Manfred shivered in the frigid breeze. "How could anything be hidden in that stone? It's solid."

…_true, but still does this humble building block keep its secret like all of this city's. see how it is darker than the rest. the keepsake inside hath dyed its container with the essence of its meaning…_

In the moonlight, the block didn't look any different than the surrounding others. Manfred shrugged.

…_lay thy palms against the surface and will thy fire to come. my power within it wilt do the rest…_

Manfred obeyed. Might as well. It was better than being shocked again. Placing his hands flat on the icy stone, he closed his eyes.

_Fire._

The stone exploded with a eardrum-snapping _crack!_ and something heavy and shining was propelled into Manfred's outstretched hands, almost as if by magnetism. He stumbled backwards, almost dropped whatever it was, and regained his footing by leaning against a half-crumbled wall.

The object he held was a great black sword. Wickedly glinting in pools of old moonlight, it seemed to grow as he beheld it—how could it ever have fit inside the block? It was misshapen like a strange diamond-shaped flame; jagged, melted and malevolent as dragons' teeth. Uniformly reflective and dark over blade and hilt, it appeared to have been carved all in one piece from some huge jewel. Manfred was awestruck. The thought-voice's next gleeful words seemed to come from far away.

…_behold my gift to thee, my soon-to-be shell—Soulslicer, the last and most powerful weapon of Borlath the Black King!…_

Through his haze of confusion and amazement, Manfred caught the strange phrases. Part of that sentence hadn't made sense.

"Borlath, the Black King? Borlath was never a king.. don't you mean the Red King? I never heard of him using a weapon like this—"

…_No!__… _The voice seemed harsher, stronger, more excited. _…Do not confuse me with that soft incompetent! I should have been more than he ever amounted to for all of his flashy talents! And I would have been, but for that meddler Mathonwy! No, this is no one's but ours… _

The penny dropped at last.

"You…" Vaguely, Manfred was disturbed to find himself shaking, and not from the wind chill. "You… you're Borlath? But how? You're dead-- you've been dead for centuries! What do you want with me?" He was too shocked to be as reverent as he would have otherwise.

…_What do I want, my child? Not much…_ Borlath beguiled._ …Only a little of thine help, that is all I require. Tonight is the anniversary of a prophecy I placed upon this place, so I have returned to see it through. Thou art my chosen one, Manfred Bloor, and thou shalt rule over thy kin with my power in thy hands. My knowledge and courage shalt reside in thine heart, and my soul shalt be with you at all times to consult and support. All I need is thy consent… _

Reflecting in the glorious blade, Manfred's ghostly face began to split into a deranged grin. "I'll be able to do whatever I wish?"

…_Yes, with my guidance…_

"My family will be restored to its rightful place of honor?"

…_Naturally…_

Manfred felt his breath coming faster, in nearing-hysterical gouts of biting coldness. "I'll have the means to finish Charlie Bone and all the rest of his pals—those ignorant unendowed meddlers and filthy blood traitors—for good?"

Borlath roared with pleased hilarity. _…Thou art truly of my blood, young Bloor! Yes, it shalt be thine!…_

"Then my consent is yours!" Manfred's voice rose and cracked, half-giggling in mad glee. "Anything to wipe them off the face of the earth! Every single one of them! We'll take them out together and anyone else who dares oppose us!"

His crazed shrieking laughter ricocheted crazily off the ruin walls, multiplying and echoing itself so that it seemed an entire castle-full of voices shared the joke, and Borlath laughed right along, soundlessly in his head.

…_Then prepare thyself, my son, for now having consent, I enter…_

Manfred's breath froze in his throat. His muscles seemed to disappear, and he dropped to his knees, Soulslicer burying its point in the rain-softened soil. The world seemed to implode into soap-bubbled colors, crushing him in a pressure like the deep sea's embrace. He wanted to scream, couldn't draw in his lungs, and could only watch captive as his vision twisted; wrested away from him, the absence of his senses filled him throughout, and though Borlath's laughter continued to ring in his fading ears there was something _wrong _with it;

it sounded louder and clearer and thinner—

—it sounded like his _own_ voice…

Then the night collapsed in upon him and Manfred knew no more.

* * *

About fifteen minutes away on Filbert Street, it was bath time.  
Slowly shriveling in a tubful of his mother's pomegranate bubble bath, Charlie Bone wondered what Benjamin would be doing tomorrow. Perhaps they could go walking to the park with Runner Bean and talk along the way; Benjamin had been in a constant sour mood recently, and Charlie was hoping to get to the bottom of it. After all, Benjamin was his oldest friend, and ever since Emma had pointed out the whole mood swing issue, it had been bothering Charlie.  
All of it was really quite hard to think about in the midst of pink foam, though. Bath suds were one of Charlie's secret guilty pleasures. They never failed to completely blow away all his worries, and if they were thick enough he could make little sculptures with them.

Charlie bubbled away innocently, pleased with himself for not getting detention, and looked ahead to a long peaceful weekend.


	3. Portents of Evil

Before I start, apologies for Benjamin's angst and my callous altering of Asa's appearance. I promise he's just as cute as ever. Also, update schedules are uncertain.

* * *

**Portents of Evil

* * *

**

As it happened, Charlie got to see Benjamin a lot sooner than he'd expected. At seven in the morning, the straw-haired boy showed up at the door, still in pajamas and trailing Runner Bean behind him as usual.

"There's been some kind of big disturbances around your school," he explained groggily to a yawning, incoherent Charlie. "Mum and Dad had to go over even earlier because of an urgent call from that Dr. Bloor. I woke up because those Flame-cats were scratching and yowling in front of my window, and _then_ I couldn't get back to sleep." He glared as if it were Charlie's fault. "So I went downstairs for breakfast and found their note on the table."

"What, the Flames? They can't write, can they?"

Benjamin glowered even more darkly. "Charlie, _honestly_. Who do you _think_ I mean?"

"Huh? Oh! Right." Charlie yawned again. "Sorry, Ben. I was pretty knocked out when you got here. D'you need something to eat then?"

Benjamin sighed. "No, I made myself toast and cold cereal, I'm fine. But Runner Bean pushed the door when I was letting myself out and accidentally locked it, and I don't have the keys… so I was wondering if you could lend me some clothes."

"Sure. They might be a bit big on you, I've grown a bit this summer." Charlie swung open his closet door. "Are you sure you don't want to just go back to bed? It is early for you, after all. Early for me, too."

"No. I don't think I could sleep." Benjamin turned away, toward the window. It showed nothing but a cold, damp gray. "I don't feel too good. Not like the flu or anything," he hastened to explain, "but more… I'm not exactly sure what I mean, really. I just feel… uneasy somehow."

Charlie didn't have a good response, so instead he pretended not to have heard and laid a red sweater and jeans on the bed. "Try those on. I'm going downstairs to see if anyone else is up, OK?"

Benjamin gave no indication that he'd heard, continuing to gaze out over Filbert Street. Charlie shrugged to himself and left the room.

As the door swung shut, Benjamin crossed to the familiar bed. Now that autumn's chill had begun to seep into the air, it wore a blue-and-white quilt he didn't recognize. He collapsed onto it next to the pile of clothing, brushing his hand against the soft material. It felt so unfamiliar.

Everything about Charlie seemed unfamiliar these days.

Benjamin knew people changing was part of growing older, and so was growing apart, but it didn't seem like it should be happening to his best friend—his only friend—at a time when comfort was what he needed most. Ever since he could remember, Charlie had been the constant in a life devoid of company more often than not. People just didn't seem to get along with him, and his parents were loving, of course, but all too often absent. His days were often spent alone with his thoughts and Runner Bean, especially now.

Especially now that Charlie was at that boarding school every week with all those creepy psychic people. Well, not all of them were creepy, but the whole thing just seemed sinister, them all holed up in there together. It seemed like every few months Charlie and his new friends were running around on some new adventure and Benjamin was half-included as a tagalong afterthought. To Charlie everything was about the Red King or whatever now.  
It just wasn't fair somehow that Charlie, a boy as ordinary as he in almost everything, always seemed to be involved in important things with interesting people, while Benjamin was left to come home to a house empty of life except for the dog—Benjamin's parents seemed to have slowly forgotten their promise to spend more family time, just like everything to do with him was eventually forgotten—and while Runner Bean was wonderful, it was slowly beginning to dawn that maybe a dog wasn't enough to keep him alive.

He slowly unfolded the red sweater, bringing the cushy fabric to his face. Yes, it still smelled of his old friend—grass and detergent—

But what was that? Something was different. There was a faint aura of dust clinging over all the old scents, and the detergent was more clinical, sharp and dry. Bloor's Academy had even changed the way Charlie's clothes felt.

Benjamin fell back on the new quilt, hiding his face under the sweater.

"I wish I were Endowed, too," he muttered into the thick yarn. "Then maybe everything would make more sense. Bet I could deal with all this better if there was something special about me. If I was special like him I'd have more friends, and be useful, and help with important things like he does…"

A keening noise from outside interrupted his ruminations. Jerking up, he saw the Flames on the tree branch outside Charlie's window. The sight of them, pacing there so collected and calm, inexplicably irritated him.

"Clear off, why don't you!" he barked through the glass. "Go on and leave us alone! You started all this in the first place!"

The Flames stayed, calling plaintively, but he ignored them. Drawing the curtains and pulling on the borrowed clothes, he slammed through the door, completely failing to notice the posters above Charlie's bed come unglued one after another and slide with a_ kssshk_ onto the quilt.

* * *

"So I was telling Gabe, I bet— (hiccup) ahem, 'scuse me— these are really good biscuits—I was telling him I bet it's Asa's revenge against the Bloors for making him patrol those grounds all those years, what d'_you_ think? I bet he snuck in and trashed the place, and—" 

"Tancred, we've already heard your theory. Twice." Olivia yawned showily. "What we still haven't figured out is, why would he wreck the ruins? And how would he smash up solid stone? It's not like he could've just gone up to the corner store and bought some TNT or something."

"Also, what about the doors?" Emma interjected. "I heard a whole bunch of those figures of the original Children were hacked off, like someone chopped up the wood with an axe or something. Asa couldn't have done that in beast form, could he?"

Gabriel shrugged. "He doesn't always change at night, does he? The moon was out for a while, maybe there was enough light for him to turn back into human form."

"Yeah, but how'd he get an axe all the way there first? Carry it in his mouth? Personally, I think it sounds too extreme for Asa's doing. He always was kind of mousy." Olivia's eyebrows, perfectly arched as always, quirked as she took another cookie from the tray.

Emma nodded. "You have a point, Livy. But then, if it wasn't him, who was it? I mean, obviously it was some _person's_ doing—"

"Well, maybe it was just some vandal with a jackhammer or something." Tancred rolled his eyes. "How are we going to know unless we actually find out for ourselves? Think anyone's going to just out and tell us?"

"Of course not, but I don't think we should go without Charlie…"

"We can fill him in later. He's spending the day with Benjamin today, and somehow I don't think we should interrupt." Emma leaned over to refill her cup of milk. "They haven't had much time together lately, and apparently Benjamin is getting resentful about it. They are old friends, after all, and I think he's a bit jealous of us getting to hang around so much with him."

Olivia was about to retort when a shadow fell across the table.

"Can I sit here?"

The group glanced up as one to see a stranger, a fair-skinned boy of eighteen or so with unnaturally blond hair that fell over his right greenish eye and stood out in random angles at the back, wearing a red striped jacket and black jeans with a plaid belt hanging off his hip. Olivia caught herself eyeing his ensemble approvingly.

"Uh. Sure?" Gabriel volunteered, glancing around at the rest for approval. They nodded reluctantly as the newcomer slid easily into a chair. Leaning forward conspiratorially, he murmured, "I can tell you two things. For one, I wasn't the cause of that stuff up at Bloors'. I'd _never_ trash the ruins, but if I _had _done it, I'd use a chainsaw."

The rest of the table gaped in utter confusion. Why was this random person confessing—or rather, pleading not guilty to them?

Olivia figured it out first. Stretching across the table so far that she was practically nose-to-nose with the stranger, she scrutinized every inch of his face. He didn't seem to mind at all, just smirked in an oddly familiar way as she reached out and streaked his cheek with her fingertip.

"You need to get a less smudgy powder, Asa," she said at last. "Maybe something tighter-packed, like Lancôme."

The rest of the table gaped in utter confusion again as the two cracked up. _Asa?_

"But w—" Tancred spluttered, penny dropping belatedly. "Your hair!"

"Mrs. Marlowe used to say one different thing is all you need to create a convincing disguise." Asa twisted a few strands self-consciously. "Bleach is cheap."

"But your eyes are a different color!" Emma gasped.

"Color contacts. They weren't that expensive, since I didn't need a prescription." He picked one out, revealing the familiar amber color.

Olivia sat back, impressed. "Dye, contacts, makeup to hide your freckles, new clothes instead of those ratty old cloaks… I think you even walk and talk different. Asa, what happened? I thought you used to be the worst actor in school."

"Exactly. I _used_ to. And I'm not in school any more." Asa reached for a biscuit. "Hey, these are still hot. Yum."

"Why go to all the trouble?" Gabriel insisted. "I thought you were leaving town for good."

Asa paused, biscuit still in mouth. "I thought I was, too. But you know, the farther away I got—it started right at the city limits, I swear—the farther I got, the worse I felt. It felt almost as if I was being stretched between where I was going and where I was coming from. Like I was tethered to the place."

A gloomy silence descended as the others pondered this bizarre occurrence. Asa broke it again by saying, "But it didn't really bother me, having to come back. My place is here, anyway. With the rest of you."

His words gave the mood a glow of encouragement.

"Then you're with us to stay?" Emma demanded.

"Forever."

"What are we waiting for, then?" Tancred shoved back his chair with a screech. "Let's go dig up some clues!"

As they headed for the door, Asa began, "That reminds me—when we're out in public, you should be calling me Sid…"

* * *

Across town, odd phenomena were beginning to mount. Mirrors cracked. Babies cried relentlessly, screaming to block out the angry whispers than no one else seemed to hear. Cats from every district slipped their bounds and ran howling through the streets in great herds.

Even though its inhabitants were unaware of the rising danger, the city was not, and it was sending out warnings.


	4. The Bloors' Revelation

Sorry for the long absence! I basically no longer have access to computers TT So don't expect this fic to be updated often. At all. Oh, and sorry for the short chapter. I had to post it this way for ease.

**A Revelation**

Consciousness did not come softly to Manfred. It forced its harsh light through his eyelids, blaring his senses awake. Voices bloomed under the layers of incomprehension, pulling him into alertness.

After that, it didn't take him long to notice he was tied to a chair.

After a few moments of general chaos, the explanation was revealed.

"Are you telling me that _I_ destroyed school property-- _our_ front doors-- and the ruin? Never!"

Dr. Bloor coughed, not meeting his son's eyes. "It's true, Manfred. You almost attacked us as well."

"Didn't recognize us, did you?" Ezekiel rasped spitefully. "Your own family! Screaming that nonsense about Borlath. Nearly gave me a heart attack."

Manfred frowned. "Borlath?"

His father seemed to be having trouble acknowledging that Manfred was in the room. "You claimed that Borlath had... risen... and that-- well, that _you _were _he_."

"But that's--" Manfred froze. Like a dimmed flame, a memory had flickered across his mind. Intrusion upon his thoughts, late at night... Being inexorably pulled to the ruin, helpless to control his own actions... Making a pact with an invisible voice... Manfred groaned. It certainly sounded as if he was going mad. But then if he were, how would he tell?

A faint tugging at his subconscious reminded him of concrete proof otherwise. "Dad-- last night, did I have a weapon with me? A black sword?"

Ezekiel wheezed. "That you did, boy! Devil knows where it came from."

"The ruin!" Manfred broke out. "When Borlath spoke to me-- stop shaking your heads! It's true-- he told me how to find the sword. He's chosen me to be his heir; that's why I could break the stone that it was stored in. Don't you see what this means? With this we could--"

"It's possible," Ezekiel interrupted, his eyes glinting. "Why not? Stranger things have happened, after all. If I'm not mistaken, it sounds as if Borlath himself has possessed you."

Dr. Bloor frowned, still doubtful. "If that's so, we should be able to to communicate with him."

Manfred opened his mouth-- to say what he didn't know-- when suddenly his voice shut off abruptly and a different one entirely took its place:

_"Indeed thou should. But art thou up to the challenge?" _


	5. A Plan

Ahem! This is the continuation of the last chapter, which was too short. Thanks for all your patience! Don't kill me... I'll try to update more often-- I swear!! As an apology present, I'll include some Olivia/Asa hintings. :D

"Hello? Olivia? Hello! Earth to Vertigo!"

Olivia jumped severely and somewhat guiltily. She was vaguely aware that the others had been talking around her over some kind of plan, but she had been too busy staring at Asa-- Sid-- to notice. It was amazing how much he'd changed-- in looks, at least. He no longer resembled a crazed rag-bag; the stylish, well-groomed figure before her was a new man (of course, that was the point).

Actually, he was pretty hot now.

Olivia wrested her brain away from daydreaming. "Sorry. You were saying?"

Tancred sighed theatrically, but he didn't really seem put out. "OK. The plan is, we sneak onto the Academy grounds and get a look at the damage ourselves. Emma will be our eye in the sky to alert us if there's danger, and _you_ are supposed to think up some illusion to shield us. Good enough?"

"_No_. I've never put an illusion on a person before! How do you know it'll work?"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll think of something! You're a smart girl!" Tancred patted her on the head with mock superiority, which only served to fire Olivia's annoyance. He had shot up again in the last few months, and Olivia loathed being shorter than most of her firends. It put her out of sorts-- and when Olivia got out of sorts odd things happened sometimes...

Tancred felt a tickling sensation over his hand. He looked down and squeaked. Where his right hand should have been resting on Olivia's head, a grotesquely huge spider squatted, its mandibles clamped tightly over his wrist. Tiny larvae scuttled over its hide.

Sliding into the higher notes of the octave, Tancred yelped desperately, snatching his hand away and frantically shaking it, only to discover the spider was no longer there. Catching on, he turned on Olivia. Emma, who had seen the whole thing, sniggered in an unladylike manner. That broke the ice.

"OK, Liv," he admitted, also laughing. "Guess I deserved it. But now we know you can illuse people too, right? You can thank me for that!"

As Olivia playfully attacked, Asa stood by silently. An uneasy feeling was steadily looming at the back of his senses. Something was going to happen, and it wouldn't be good.

Short again. Sorry.


	6. Investigating the Ruin

(prepares to get online tushie fried by a furious DotCiki) Sorry I was away so long, folks. I PROMISE I'll update more often than this! Like, once a month! I hope. I'll ENSURE you of that! xD (Sorry. Private joke.)

...

(jumps in pan)

* * *

**Investigating the Ruin**

Benjamin was antsy. He knew it was really nothing to do with him and that his parents would have whatever the situation was under control, but the forbidding image of the Academy loomed in his mind's eye. He was restless and distracted, and at last nerves prompted him to blurt:

"Charlie, let's go up to your school and see what happened."

Charlie glanced up, surprised. "Bloor's? Why? I thought you didn't like it."

"I just want to see how Mum and Dad are doing. I'm curious about what's happened, anyway. Aren't you? I mean, it's _your_ school."

Charlie laughed a little derisively. "Are you kidding? I get enough of that place five days and nights a week. It's a guarantee that I'll hear about it in the next 3 days. Besides, do I _really_ want to know? I bet it's something that spells bad news for me."

Ordinarily, Benjamin would have agreed wholeheartedly. But today he itched to know what was going on at Bloor's. It was unexplainable; he just felt as though the right place for him just then was at the Academy. "Please, Charlie, let's go. I won't feel comfortable with myself until we do, and I don't want to go by myself."

For almost a whole minute, Charlie held out. But Benjamin seemed awfully ill at ease, and Charlie hadn't done much for him lately.

"All _right_!" Charlie pushed back his chair. Ben looked askance at him.

"Excuse me?"

Charlie was pulling on his jacket. "Are we going or aren't we?"

Benjamin's face altered slowly into something closer to a smile.

"Thanks."

* * *

Meanwhile, the others were having a ridiculously easy time getting into the Academy grounds.

"The security is awful here," Tancred commented, clambering over a wall.

"Shh!" Olivia hissed, tripping over a tree root and crashing into its branches. "Ow! I mean, you never know when that creep Weedon is going to be hanging around, and if my illusion isn't working we're sunk."

"Whaddaya mean, not working?" Tancred demanded twitchily. "Can't you _tell_?"

"No, actually. Remember, I made it so that the illusion wasn't visible to us?"

Tancred was about to retort, but a gasp from Asa shut him up.

"Look…"

Ahead lay the ruin—in ruins.

The sight took their voices away. They were used to seeing the ruin of the Red Castle relatively whole, though somewhat crumbling and strewn about, like a tree losing its autumn leaves. Its current state, however… Stones had been hacked into jagged pieces and tossed uncaringly aside. The bits of wall still standing were reduced to shards, perforated and chopped. To the children, whose past cried to them from the sundered stone, it was like coming home to a fire-shredded husk of a house.

"My God," Tancred breathed, examining violent slashes in a portion of wall. "It's completely decimated. How…?"

"Looks like it was cut cleanly with something." Lysander knelt, gathering shards in his wide palms. "Like a blade. I can't imagine any kind of blade that could hold up against this, though. This is insane…"

Olivia stood, shivering against the chill breeze that had suddenly sprung up. Something about the destruction around her drained the mind of comfort. There was a sinister aura to the place now that completely overrode the ordinary atmosphere of the castle. It felt, to her, dead and mocking.

"Wait. What's this?" Lysander plucked a scrap of fabric from between two stones smudged with ochre several shades darker than the stone itself. Grateful for a distraction, Olivia stumbled over to take a closer look. The scrap was silky black, carrying a shiny jet button.

"It looks sort of familiar. Like it got torn from a shirtsleeve or something. See the button?"She squinted closer. "Hey, I think that's from one of Manfred's shirts! See the 'M' on the button?"

She and the boys exchanged glances.

"Manfred? But why? This is the Bloors' property. Why would he destroy his own property?" Lysander mused. Asa fidgeted. Talking about Manfred, whom he had looked up to for so long, made him uncomfortable.

No one had an answer. But even if they'd had even one, it would never have been voiced, because just then the world fell apart around their ears.

* * *

On the other side of the ruin, Benjamin collapsed to his knees.

"Ben! What's… ugh!" Charlie staggered as a wave of something indescribable—part sound, part motion—jolted through his body, a rolling shock that yanked the ground from under his feet, shaking him to the core.

"It's an earthquake!" Benjamin screamed over the roaring burrowing into his head. Lurching to his feet, he headed blindly for what he thought was safety—the ruin.

Chasing him—"Ben!"—Charlie collided with Asa, likewise heading for safety. They simultaneously apologized, attempting to untangle themselves and succeeding just in tome to get tripped over by Olivia and her purply python boots.

"Sorry," she gasped, pulling them both to their feet. "Quick! Let's get out of here before the whole thing comes down on our heads!"

They ran, reeling.

* * *

"Art thou now less doubting, my unfaithful scions?"

Dr. Bloor and Ezekiel stood gaping at the music tower window, gazing at the figures growing smaller in the distance and at the man who used to be their only heir. Or was he, still?

The insolent slouch was replaced by a proud, regal bearing. Manfred's habitual sullen scowl had given way to aloof self-assurance. His manner of speech was totally different. How could they be one and the same?

"Man—I mean… Borlath," Dr Bloor ventured. "If it really is you. What have you done to the trespassers? How…"

"A simple mass distance-hypnotism. Not so difficult for one as advanced as I. Thy son's endowment of hypnotism was not eradicated, but only dormant. 'Twas no large task to rouse and augment it with my own considerable powers."

Ezekiel seized the white hand by his side with his own gnarled two, trembling. "It's true—I feel it!" he cried, rheumy eyes glistening. "Borlath has indeed come back to us! My _greatest_ lord—" with servility—"you must tell us _how_ you have managed it."

From behind his many-times-grandson's eyes, Borlath smiled down at the pathetic wizened figure.

_Would it be truly as easy as this to win them? Perhaps the line has gone soft…_

"All in good time, my son. All in good time."

* * *

Phew! At least it was a nice long chapter, right?

NEXT CHAPTER PREVIEW: The Endowed feel under the weather; Paton puzzles; so do the Browns; and Benjamin has problems of his own.

Y'all come back now, y'hear?


	7. Night Visits on Piminy Street

_I ATEN'T DEAD._

_After waiting to get my files back for far too long, I figure it's not gonna happen any time soon, either. With that, and having finally gotten a copy of The Red Knight (the Piminy St. gang FTW!), I'm writing what in my mind is sort of a_ (very short)_ 'filler' chapter. Hope y'all enjoy, and if I can fit in any more new material I definitely will! If this sounds weird, I haven't quite gotten the voices of the sorcerers down yet.  
_

_So WARNING: _**Contains sort-of spoilers for the last book (introduces characters from _The Red Knight_)!**_  
_

_Darius Rameses= Undershirt-and-camo-pants Man, Nathaniel Trivet = Black Tracksuit Man. They needed names.  
_

* * *

**Night-Visits on Piminy Street**

* * *

The pictures that flitted through the heads that slept on Piminy Street were rarely pleasant ones-- at least general consensus would not have called them pleasant-- and wildly variant, as even a single person's dreams from night to night tend to be.

Tonight was different.

The sleeping sorcerers tossed and turned in their beds, troubled by the sounds and feelings of a city in turmoil. Their heads were filled with strangely elating chaos, with familiar faces-- the Endowed of the city-- here and there swimming to the surface.

And then he came to them. A tall cloaked man, his sweeping mane shadowing his face in ebony, a sword like fear and midnight in his hand. He spoke to them, called by name. He knew their Endowments, their goals. He poured sweetness and promises of power into ears starved of kind words.

_Who are you?_ they all asked.

_I am thy king,_ he answered.

* * *

At #8 Dolores Slingshot sat bolt upright in her cheap brass bed, bony bosom heaving in shock, alone as always except for her vivid red wig, which lay on her nightstand like a comforting, if limp, pet.

At #5 Amos Byrne woke gasping and sweat-drenched, threads of flame racing through his sheets.

At #3 Wilfred Coalpaw found himself standing in his bare feet beside his four-poster, gesticulating wildly as if trying to catch hold of something.

At #7, Darius Rameses and Nathaniel Trivet both fell out of bed at the same time. Nathaniel hit his head on the corner of the nightstand and they couldn't quite get the blood out of the rug.

The sorcerers of Piminy Street didn't always agree. But that morning they all stumbled out into the street bleary-eyed, some still in pajamas and slippers, to find that the others had done the same, they were all in agreement that something decidedly significant had happened.

They couldn't necessarily agree what it was, though.

* * *

"I'm telling you, it's Badlock!"

"Since when did Count Harken ever carry a sword like that? It was my ancestor Thelonious Granite, I'm sure of it!"

"If it was _your _ancestor, why did he appear to all of us? That doesn't make sense--"

"Makes a lot more sense than your theory, Mister 'It Was That Bugger Paton Yewbeam, He Must Be Fated To Lead Us All Somehow'--"

"Well, with _that _hair who _else _could it be from around here--"

"Who says it's one of the Endowed from here? It could've been any--"

"Shut it!" Dolores bellowed. The table (her kitchen table, to be exact) fell more or less silent. "We all at least can see it's obvious that the figure is a powerful Endowed, right?" Nods. "We all can assume he's a distant ancestor from the mode of his speech, right?" More nods. "Well, all we need to do is track down records of Endowed who match his description. Simple."

"Oh, _yes_," snorted Amos, "simple considering there's only_ nine centuries_ of history to go through--"

Wilfred pinched the bridge of his nose. "Amos, we won't have to look through _all _our ancestors. There could only have been so many dark-haired swordsmen in whatever time period our visitor hailed from. Medieval, I suppose."

"And where are we going to find the information?" Darius put in.

"There are plenty of bookstores and libraries and things in this city, aren't there?" Dolores looked undeservedly pleased with herself. "We'll look through the history sections until we find something."

"I know!" Nathaniel shot up, knocking over his chair with a clatter. Dolores frowned at him; it was her chair. "You remember that bookstore we turned over once? Ingledew's, on Cathedral Close? She's got _shitloads _of books about the Endowed and the city!"

"Perhaps we're assuming too much. . ." Wilfred mused.

No one was listening. The open screen door creaked forlornly: they'd already gone.


	8. An Influx of Visitors

_OH _

_MY _

_GOD _

_DID ANYONE MISS ME_

* * *

**An Influx of Visitors**_  
_

* * *

Ever since a messy-haired boy had come through her door looking to buy a birthday present for his best friend's birthday two years ago, Julia Ingledew had seen and experienced many strange things in her small bookshop. But surely none of them had been quite so unexpected as this.

"How much are you asking?" barked a tiny redheaded crone, waving a tome under Miss Ingledew's nose.

"Erm-"

"We want genealogies on the Red King's children," added a swarthy man in camoflage pants, looming suddenly. His bare undershirt revealed more muscles than Julia was quite comfortable with at such close quarters.

"That's a songbook you have there," she said to the redheaded woman rather more sharply than usual. The rest of their group- a very odd one, even by the city's standards- was busy rummaging through her stock, fanning pages, piling up volumes untidily and arguing in hissed tones. "Our historical section is on that wall. Aren't you from Piminy Street?" she added, memory suddenly sparking.

The tiny woman opened her mouth. Julia rather expected something rude, but thankfully whatever it was was interrupted.

"Dolores!"

One of the males- a scrawny, gingery specimen with hollow cheeks and lavender shadows under his dusty eyes- skittered up with a book in his hands. "I think I've found it!"

Dolores shrieked with alarming glee, snatching the book. "Wonderful, wonderful! Give it here, Amos, you clever thing! Where? Here? Yes, that's him! That's him!"

"That's-" began Julia, taken aback.

"How much?" demanded Dolores, then yelped and leapt back as little candle-flames flared into lines of life up Amos's sleeves. "Stop that, you fool!"

"I can't help it," whined Amos, patting out his fires. "It happens when I get excited, ever since that accident with the-"

Hurriedly Julia named an exorbitant price, simply to get the Piminy magicians out of her store. The rest of the group was looking belligerent, and if the thin man with sepia-colored hair was a firestarter, he was no man to have around such precious books for long. To her shock, one of the wealthier-looking ones (white-haired, dark-skinned, purple-suited) handed her a fat roll of notes, and the book was out the door along with the rowdy, aggressive group. Even though she knew better, Julia breathed a long sigh of relief.

And then she picked up the phone.

"Paton?"

* * *

Normally there wasn't much traffic in midday. But even before the sun had risen on this day, the municipal borders had been crossed dozens of times. A steady stream of strangers was flowing into the city, even as residents were leaving.

Like Julia's desperate customers, they were a strange lot. Some came in caravans. Some loped in on foot. Cars of every make, model and condition whirred down streets in not-always-so-orderly lines. There were even a few animals spotted making their way through town in an oddly decisive manner.

Borlath stood on the roof of Bloor's Academy despite the chill of dawn and Manfred's protests, watching. A smile spread across his face. The banished of his faithful were returning to the navel of their world. Soon he would convene them. And then...

...then the city. And then...

...then, the world would lay itself at his feet.

_Truly, it is good to be king_, he reflected, and as the first rays of true light pierced the sky battle-red, Borlath willed fire into both palms and licked his lips at the eager hunger of the flames. They and he had much in common.


End file.
